Vanquished
by ScarletDevil1503
Summary: Countess Arriana Valga has ruled Chorrol for ten years since her husband's death. However, her rein will be cut short by an event that has all of Tamriel on their knees. Excerpt: My light violet eyes stared unwavering at the demon, and his pale lips twisted into a smirk. "I have you now, my dear Countess..." My back went rigid when an icy grasp closed around my neck. Dracula/OC.


**My first crossover. This idea has been nagging at me for quite some time. I love watching/reading Van Helsing, as well as playing Oblivion... so this is where those fandoms collide.**

**For the sake of this story, let us imagine that Transylvania is to the north, above Bruma, in the snowy mountains of southern Skyrim. Also, this is many years before Helsing took the stage in the Dracula universe.  
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**Please note that this is _not_ from the "Player" perspective. It's from Countess Chorrol's POV. She calls herself Arriana Valga, but please don't think of **_**that**_** Arriana Valga. Picture a member of the Chorrol royal family several of generations back, who happens to have the same name. If you haven't read Alessia Ottus' _Guide to Chorrol_, then you're a lot saner than I.  
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**Thanks for your time!**

**-Scarlet**

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><p>Disclaimer: I own neither Van Helsing, nor Oblivion. This is a work of fanfiction.<p>

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><p><em>Our tale begins in Chorrol, a city in Cyrodiil, three hundred years before the Gates of Oblivion opened their jaws.<em>

*~ **Vanquished** ~*

**Preface**

The guards had fought valiantly. I watched their blood seep into the lush, royal blue carpet as I sat upon my throne with my chin in the air. The monster, whose name was whispered in shadow, made his way through the carnage he'd singlehandedly created, and slinked up the stone steps to where I sat. The midnight darkness of the unlit room seemed to follow him like a black, menacing cloud; the candles had long been quenched. My light violet eyes stared unwavering at the demon, and his pale lips twisted into a smirk.

"I have you now, my dear Countess..."

He leered over me, and leaned down so close that I could smell the stale, musky scent of his dark robe. His body radiated cold, rather than heat, and I knew in that moment why the monster was so feared. He was death, and darkness. I dared to glare at his pale face – framed by blackness, skin worn smooth by centuries of existence – into the stormy blue eyes that swirled with righteous conquest. My back went rigid when an icy grasp closed around my neck; the nails of his fingers dug painfully deep into my flesh.

"Vladislaus Dracula." The name was like ice on my lips, and I felt the very marrow of my bones freeze. "I am vanquished."

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Unexpected Diplomacy<strong>

_Sun's Dawn  
>Fredas<br>8:34 AM_

I am Imperial. I am just. I am the widow of Count Chorrol. I am Countess Arriana Valga. I start this record in my darkest days, which are very likely my last.

Chorrol was a goodly city, nestled deep in The Great Forest. My subjects showed me the same respect that I deal to them, which was the utmost. I was a faithful worshiper of the Nine, and pledged my life to Akatosh, the Great Dragon. My husband had perished in battle with northern invaders shortly after we were wed, when I was seventeen years of age. At that time, I assumed responsibility for the city Chorrol. Ten years had passed since then.

Diplomacy with the surrounding cities was good during my rein; trade with the Imperial City was fluent due to the efficiency of The Black Road. My cousin, Counselor Dorian of the royal family in the Imperial City, ensured that Chorrol sustained itself generously.

That particular morning was damp and cloudy. The rain thrummed steadily against the stone walls of the castle, sounding as far away as a lost dream. I rose from bed feeling restless, and the cold stone floor of my dark chambers stung my bare feet. I slipped into the blue velvet slippers sitting by my chest of drawers, and began drawing my hair out of its thick braid. I didn't bother lighting a candle as I selected a matching gown, and pushed a golden comb into the folds of my auburn hair. Regarding my reflection in the looking-mirror standing in the corner, I sighed softly.

The soft, royal blue material clung to my boney arms, and the golden cord hung loosely around my slim waist. A pronounced collarbone could be seen above the shallow swoop of my bust, and my shoulder blades poked through the bare skin of my back. My sharp chin jutted out in an ostentatious manner, and the furrow of my brow was as severe as it was permanent. Yes, I loved my city... but it was slowly taking my life, and my youth.

I took the ebony dagger from my nightstand and fastened it to my belt.

Fingering the amulet around my neck, I maneuvered through the corridors to the dining room. The cool metal was smooth, twisted into the blue shape of the Chorrol crest. It had belonged to my late husband, and was given to me along with the countship title of Chorrol. It was enchanted with mild Reflection magic.

Because of the late hour, I suspected my courtiers would already be waiting for me to join the breakfast table. I cherished every member of my court. Lythe Wavrick, the Chief Herold; Hlidara Mothril, my personal attendent; Chanel, the castle mage; and Stalen, the castle blacksmith. And, of course, the entire guard.

As I descended the stone staircase behind the tapestries in the Great Hall, I spotted Laythe Wavrick. "Countess," he greeted, waiting at the bottom of the steps for me. "Are you well?"

The concern was evident on his face. I forced a smile to my lips, hoping to reassure him. "I am, Laythe. I simply require more rest – that is all."

He wasn't satisfied. "Then perhaps I should move your audience with the Count of Skingrad to a later date..."

I recalled the meeting I'd scheduled with Count Janus Hassildor, and shook my head. The note his bearer had carried to me the previous week contained urgency for my audience, and I'd written back with the day's date enclosed. "No, I promised to meet with him today. Don't worry, Laythe, all is well."

He nodded uncertainly, and gestured to the open door to the side of the large room. "You should refresh yourself, Countess. The delegacy will be expected before noon."

I glanced up at the tapestries above twin thrones as I passed the dais; their branches and roots threaded white upon deep blue. The symbol of Chorrol, the Great Oak, was also a symbol of the people's heritage, rooted deep in the time of our ancestors. I felt honored to lead them, as my husband had before me.

When I entered the dining hall, my personal bodyguard – a tall, Orcish brute by the name of Gro'nahk – snapped to attention just inside the doorway. I'd never allowed my guards into my chambers, and they always knew that my first stop in the morning was the dining hall. "Countess Valga," he saluted, "your Grace!"

"Peace." I tipped my head in etiquette as I passed by him, and he fell into position behind me as I crossed the plush carpet of the hall.

A long, large table stood in the center of the candlelit room, covered with any and every kind of food. Two young scullery attendants stood off to the side, their eyes downcast in respect. The chair at the far head of the table, which was larger than the other, belonged to me. The seat to my right was reserved for Laythe, and to the left, for Hlidara Mothril.

Hlidara sat in her chair, tipping a glass of wine to her lips. I greeted her as I sat, and Gro'nahk stood behind my chair as though a goblin would spring down from the ceiling. "Good morning, your Grace. I trust the day finds you well in health?" the charming High Elf replied, smiling kindly as I ran my fingertips along the polished silver of my clean plate.

"Exceptionally well, Hlidara," I said as convincingly as possible. Hlidara was my only sanity amid the stanch formality of Castle Chorrol, with her motherly nature and modest dress. She never wore anything more than coarse brown linens, and I'd never saw her without a smile. It was rumored that she was over a hundred years old, and had traveled as far as Hammerfell before settling into my husband's service twenty years prior.

As I reached for a gilded pitcher of water, a voice from my right startled me. "Countess, it's very good to see you this morning."

In my surprise, my hand clumsily bumped into a large bowl of porridge. The two female attendants rushed in to clean the mess from the table linens, and apologized for my clumsiness. "It was my own fault," I grumbled softly. A chuckle came from the same source, which caused my attention to fix upon the medium-built, dark-skinned Redguard sitting five chairs down. "Have we met?" I asked simply, reaching again for the water. The maids curtsied out of the way, and removed their hands from the table.

"Not officially. I am Galen, an attendant of Countess Bruma."

His voice was honeyed smooth and his manner was charismatic. I smelt a weasel. "Galen of Bruma, welcome to court Chorrol. I'm afraid that I am unfamiliar with your purposes here." I made a note to give Laythe a scolding later. He handled all my public affairs, especially diplomacy.

"Unsurprising, your Grace, as I've only just arrived. My Lady sent me here to extend a proposal to you."

I slowly sipped my room temperature water and watched his face for lies. I was never quick to trust, and always swift to suspect. "Such as?"

"As you know, the treaty between us states that we shall come together against a common foe. We would like to amend the text to include _all_ foes."

His blatant manner insulted me. "If the Countess would like to amend the treaty, she shall do so with the proper actions. As _you_ know, I must meet her face to face to discuss diplomatic issues." I placed a helping of roasted ham on my plate, and lifted a silver knife and fork.

"Forgive me, Countess Valga. But my Lady insists that it is urgent, and that it must be done as soon as possible."

I slowly chewed a bite of meat as I considered this. "And to what end? Is there a foe that threatens your city?"

He appeared hesitant, and watched me take another bite before saying, "Perhaps. I am ill-informed on the matter, so I apologize."

I eyed his skeptically. What he was asking required a lot more thought than I could afford at the moment. "If you cannot give me more information, then I must decline forthright."

This threatened him, and his stiff posture betrayed his nerves. "Again, forgive me. We know of your open relations with Skingrad, and wish for you to extend the generosity to Bruma as well."

I inhaled sharply through my nose. Such impudence. "And what gives you the impression that you deserve such generosity?"

Bruma was a small town in the snowy wilderness of The Jerall Mountains, with whom Chorrol had seen conflict with until a treaty was signed nearly half a century ago. Skingrad was a strategic trade sight between The Gold Coast and the Imperial City, with whom peace had existed for more than two hundred years. The differences were obvious; it was almost preposterous to weigh them on the same scale.

"Only by mercy, your Grace. Our defenses grow thin, our storehouses more empty by the day. We offer you only submission to your law in return."

A pitiful offer. I dismissed the weasel Galen and ordered Laythe to pen a letter to Countess Bruma. I needed to gather more evidence and information if I were to approach the situation objectively.

As I waited for Count Hassildor's appearance, my thoughts strayed... What sort of enemy could drive pompous Bruma to grovel at my doorstep?


End file.
